My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

Despair is a free man—hope is a slave.

I don't say Valancy deliberately murdered these lovers as she outgrew them. One simply faded away as another came. Things are very convenient in this respect in Blue Castles.

The morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses. The trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood. A sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to her lips,'Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.

You've all been so sure that life is good that I've never been able to disbelieve it. Never will be able to.

But maybe everything'll go all right. In this world you've just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take what ever God sends.